


No Country for Young Women

by coyotesuspect



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/pseuds/coyotesuspect
Summary: As a favor to Wazzer, Polly and Maladict go undercover as a couple at a peace conference to foil a plot. Unfortunately, they don't know what the plot is or who's doing the plotting.Even more unfortunately, Maladict really wasn't kidding about vampires and structured lingerie.





	No Country for Young Women

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221brosiewilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221brosiewilde/gifts).



Polly's beard itched. It was also, she feared, lopsided. She scratched at it – discreetly.

"Stop playing with it."

Polly dropped her hand and frowned.

"There's no way you saw that," she said. Maladict was facing away from her, looking out the coach at the passing Mouldovian countryside.

"Elite vampire senses," replied Maladict, with only a hint of smugness.

Polly stuck out her tongue at the back of Maladict's head, and Maladict immediately whipped around to glare at her. Polly guessed this was because Mal knew Polly well enough by now to know what she was doing, rather than another example of her 'elite vampire senses'.

Polly scratched her beard in defiance. 

“It itches,” she said. 

“At least you’re wearing actual clothing,” snapped Maladict. She gestured indignantly at her now rather pronounced bosom. Maladict hadn’t been kidding about women vampires and structured lingerie.

Polly kept her eyes fixed firmly on Maladict's face. There was a lot more skin on display than Polly was used to seeing. It was all rather unnerving. 

“You could have worn something else for the coach ride.” 

“There wouldn’t have been time to change,” said Maladict. “And this is what 'vampiresses' travel in. How else are you supposed to seduce any attacking brigands into dropping their weapons before you rip their heads off?” 

Polly thought about that. 

“Couldn’t you just go straight to ripping their heads off?” 

“That’s what I always said. But it’s Not the Done Thing.” 

Maladict sighed and slumped down in her seat, crossing her arms as she did so. Her bosom went further up. Polly decided to look out the window. The basic landscape was much the same as Borogravia, but the people seemed a little healthier, the fields a little more fertile, and it struck a coiled note of hope and envy in Polly's chest. It had been another long summer of war with Zlobenia, and it would be a long, bitter winter, even if this… the invitation had called it a “peace conference” worked out. 

“Do you think it _will_ work?” Polly asked, voicing the thought. 

“No, I think it’s a trick.” 

“You seem very sure.” 

“It’s how my family got their ancestral keep. We invited the original owners to a feast and then, well.”

Maladict made a very expressive gesture. 

“Oh, said Polly. “Well. _Well_.”

She gripped the hilt of her saber a little harder. 

*

They arrived in the Mouldovian capital just after sunset, the sky tentatively decked out in violet. From a distance, Chinsnow looked like a bustling, mid-sized, and modestly prosperous town nestled at the base of a mountain. Up close, it looked basically the same. It didn’t look very defensible, but then, reflected Polly, it didn’t need to be so long as the castle was. That was usually the way of kings and lords. 

The castle in question clung like a determined cat to the mountain slope above the city. It wasn’t quite as dark and hulking as Kneck Keep, but it was from the same family, a first cousin perhaps. It was the castle of a country, thought Polly guiltily, which had become accustomed to annual invasions from one of its neighbors. 

At the gate, Polly heard their coachman announce them, and then it was only moments before their horses – decent horses; Polly had no idea where they’d been found – clattered to a halt. There was a pause. Maladict grabbed Polly’s arm, expression more grim and fixed than any Polly had seen in battle. 

“The Baroness Maladoria Crescentia Influenza Alexa Perennial Katerina Symphony Anastasia Coachella Etcetera Viviana Allegra von Bad Humbug, of Uberwald,” announced the coachman, whose own name Polly had learned on the ride up was Patricia. Polly took an extremely brief second to appreciate Patricia’s lung capacity. She’d managed to fit in all of 'Maladoria’s' 'names' in one breath. 

Then, Maladict burst from the coach in an explosion of black lace and silk, dragging Polly after her like a doll. They both careened forward several steps before Maladict tottered to a halt on her four inch heels. Polly nearly tripped herself, unbalanced on her own (discreetly) heeled boots. But Maladict’s grip tightened and Polly straightened to attention, trying to look as if this were how she normally exited coaches. 

She caught the expression on Maladict’s face then and felt her breath catch like a rabbit stuck without cover. Maladict was beaming at the assembled welcome party with the mad, avaricious gaze of a hawk. 

They stared nervously back. 

“And her consort,” continued Patricia blithely, “Chad Hulkensmash.” 

One of the assembled dignitaries cleared his throat and took a step forward. He was very pale and wearing a lot of sleek, gray fur. His goatee ended in a dapper little curl. 

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Welcome, Baroness. Welcome…Chad. I am Count Hillendorf. The king is, er, delighted that Uberwald has taken an interest in the peace process.” 

Maladict’s smile grew wider. There was some more uneasy shuffling.

“Oooh, very interested,” trilled Maladict, and Polly had to hide a wince. It wasn’t Maladict’s voice. It was too high, for one, too breathy for another. 

Maladict stroked Polly’s hand, as if sensing her unease, though that, of course, only made Polly more uneasy. 

“You humans can be so clever sometimes, so we do like to keep an eye on you.” 

There was a rather thoughtful pause, broken only by a whimper from someone standing behind the count. 

Hillendorf cleared his throat and continued, staring fixedly ahead. He was quite obviously avoiding eye contact with Mal.

“Yes. Well. Unfortunately, dinner won’t be for another hour. And, ah, the cooks aren’t sure we have anything suitable for a guest with a, er, _palate_ such as yourself.” 

“Ah!” cried Maladict, loudly enough that several members of the welcome party flinched. “But there is no need!”

She stroked Polly’s hand again and smiled. Somehow, her fangs seemed to have gotten longer. “I have brought my own provisions.” 

Polly stood a little straighter under the sudden attention directed towards her. She didn’t feel very much like a Chad. A Chad would be taller, more muscular, able to grow his own beard.

But Polly supposed it didn’t matter how manly the baroness’s consort was. “Chad” was just going to be supper. And a few other meals to boot. 

*

They were given a set of rooms in a building Polly suspected was a remodeled guard tower, based on its general towery-ness and its distance from the central building where the other diplomatic contingents and Mouldovian royal family were quartered. Not that it would make much of a difference if Maladict were truly committed to eating a couple of them. 

“It looks like home,” said Maladict gloomily as she examined the furnishings, after they had finally been left alone. A surprisingly resolute Hillendorf and a shaking steward had spent close to half an hour making sure everything was to their liking. 

Polly had to admit it did look stereotypically vampiric. The curtains were heavy, black velvet, and would effectively block out any sunlight that tried to shimmy through. The bedspread on the looming, ornate iron-framed bed was also black, and when she examined it more closely, she saw that the borders were embroidered with black roses. The remaining furniture was made with heavy, dark wood, and the wrought iron candle holders looked like they were capable of inflicting serious blunt force trauma on someone. Polly stored that away in the back of her mind. It might be useful. 

There were also no mirrors. Not that Polly particularly minded that last point. Any time she had caught sight of her reflection over the last year, she had been surprised by what she saw. She wasn’t Polly Perks, daughter of a respectable innkeeper, but she also wasn’t Oliver “Ozzer” Perks, enlisted man in the Borogravian Tenth Foot regiment. She still didn’t know who that person in between was, and she didn’t think catching sight of herself as Chad would do much to help. 

Overall, the accommodations were the most luxurious Polly had ever stayed in, even given its… Gothic sensibilities. It was certainly an improvement on the fourth-hand, cabbage-smelling, intermittently leaky tent that she’d been sleeping in prior to Wazzer’s summons. But she wisely kept this thought to herself as she unpacked. 

Maladict unpacked as well, taking out her coffee maker first and setting it lovingly on the table next to the candlesticks. She took out her black ribbon next, and laid it next to the coffee maker with a pinched, unhappy expression.

Unpacking together should have felt normal. They’d been setting up and dismantling camp together for months now. But Polly felt _off_. The Maladict she was seeing out of the corner of her eye wasn’t the Maladict she was used to seeing. Though Maladict’s obvious bad mood didn’t help either. Mal had gotten better about letting her emotions affect other people, but sometimes, when she was really unhappy, or stressed, or had been reduced to sucking the coffee beans on her necklace for a few days, she still _projected_. Polly would have to deal with that eventually. 

Maladict disappeared into another room and came out a few moments later in trousers and a shirt, her hair pulled back. Polly felt something unwind inside her. Here was the Maladict she was used to – androgynous and stylishly disheveled. Stereotypes about heavy eyeliner and corsets were really missing the point when it came to vampires, she thought. They didn’t need all that to look good. 

Not that she regularly thought about how good Mal looked.

Maladict set about making herself coffee. Polly watched her from the claw-footed sofa; she’d already acquired a cup of tea for herself.

“So,” said Maladict, sitting next to Polly. She sipped at her coffee and then smirked. “So.”

Polly ignored her. That was normally the easiest way to get Maladict to spit out whatever she was thinking. 

“You’ve barely been able to look at me all day.”

Polly turned her head and narrowed her eyes. “I’m looking at you now.” 

“I’m covered up now.”

Polly frowned. “It’s rude to stare.” 

“Since when have you cared about what’s rude?” 

“What’s your point, Corporal?” said Polly, voice dangerously soft. It had been a long day, and she hated when Maladict got all _knowing_ on her. 

Maladict laughed. “That doesn’t work on me.” 

“Asking you a direct question rarely does.” 

“I’m only saying,” said Maladict, “if there’s something you want to unburden yourself about, you can go ahead.”

Polly frowned harder. 

“You’re not making any sense. I think your corset was too tight.”

Maladict laughed in a way that from anyone less elegant than a vampire would have been a snort. 

“Oooh, Chad,” she said, voice high and breathy again, and suddenly her face was very close to Polly’s. Polly tried to jerk back, remembering just in time the cup of nearly scalding tea in her hand. She froze instead. 

“Do you really need that voice?” she said, strangled. “It’s a bit much.” 

Maladict smiled very slowly, revealing her two gleaming canines. It was a different look from the one she’d given their welcome party. But it wasn’t _much_ different. The prey part of Polly’s brain still started scanning for nearby burrows to leap into. 

“I’m allowed to have some fun with this,” said Maladict. “And it’s very… in character.” 

She tilted her head a little, but kept her eyes fixed on Polly. She was still smiling, but, as Polly looked back at her, frozen, the smile faded. 

Mal patted Polly’s knee and got up. 

“You’re lucky you look ridiculous in that beard,” she said, and then she sauntered out of the room. 

Polly stared after her, flabbergasted and a little breathless, heart jumping hard in her chest. She didn’t feel very lucky. The beard still itched. 

*

They skipped the welcome dinner – Polly had also brought her own provisions – for reconnaissance, but they did go the next morning to the opening ceremony. The Borogravian delegation had arrived hours before Maladict and Polly, but the ceremony was the first that they would see them. Wazzer was the only one among them who knew just who Polly and Maladict were. 

There were several interminable speeches about brotherhood and shared history and blood. Polly kept her hand on the hilt of her saber and stared nobly, but vaguely ahead, like she figured Chad would do. Next to her, Maladict was very still except for the occasional “hm” or rustle of skirts that inevitably drew a wave of agitated and excited attention towards her. 

“Stop attracting attention,” Polly muttered out of the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t just the Borogravians she was worried about. Prince Heinrich was there, too, and he was none too happy that Borogravia had once again fought him to a draw. 

“I’m not,” muttered Maladict back, though she managed to do it while also smiling gracefully. “I’m just… existing.” 

“Just… do it more quietly then.” 

“Was that an order, Sergeant?” asked Maladict, and suddenly her voice was much nearer to Polly’s ear and her hand was on Polly’s knee. Again. Polly’s whole body tensed up. 

“Just relax,” whispered Maladict. She squeezed Polly’s knee. “You’re my consort, right?” 

Polly fought off a flush. Maladict was right. They wouldn’t be very convincing if Polly constantly looked like she was ready to bolt any time Mal touched her. Tentatively, she moved her hand from her saber and laid it atop Mal’s. 

She kept it there the rest of the morning.

*

After the ceremony, Wazzer met them in a courtyard outside the main hall. Polly had only seen Wazzer a couple times since the war before the last war with Zlobenia had ended, and each time she had been impressed by how much _better_ Wazzer looked. She was still thin and a little twitchy, but her cheeks had rounded out and she no longer looked like she was about to fold into herself any time someone gave her a hard look. 

Maladict, seated languorously on the edge of a fountain, shaded by the umbrella Polly held above her, smiled at Wazzer and held out her hand. 

Languorously was not a word Polly would normally use. But it suited Maladict. Most words Polly never would have considered a use for seemed to suit Maladict, even after months of living in each other’s pockets and two coffee-related breakdowns on Maladict’s part. It must have something to do with being a vampire.

Wazzer regarded Maladict’s outfit with horror. She didn’t take her hand. Polly didn’t blame her

“How many Abominations do you think this is?” asked Maladict cheerfully, dropping her hand. The fountain’s babble provided enough noise that it was safe to talk quietly without being overheard.

Wazzer flushed. “Those don’t matter anymore,” she said. She gestured back towards the hall, where Polly could see diplomats and their assorted hangers-on milling about. Once, she caught sight of Froc’s white head and immediately looked away. 

“We’re creating our own future now,” continued Wazzer, “One based on solidarity with our ethnic brethren.” 

Maladict and Polly exchanged a look. They were getting very good at exchanging looks, and this one said something like, “Ah, erm, that is very nice.” 

Personally, thought Polly, this whole thing about “brethren” and “brotherhood” left out a lot of people. But it was already apparent Wazzer was now topping off her piety with nation-building. 

“And, ah, the Duchess really approves of all this?” said Polly. 

The letter she and Mal had received from Wazzer, written in a faint, painstaking hand on stationary printed with kittens gamboling on the bottom (“This is at least three Abominations,” Mal had said fondly, at the time), had said the Duchess had spoken to Wazzer again and asked for Mal and Polly’s help in protecting the peace process. 

“Oh, yes,” said Wazzer, nodding fervently. “She wants peace for Borogravia, and this is the best way to do it. As long,” she made her eyes very wide so that, for a second, she looked like the Wazzer Polly had first met, all eyes and fear, “as we can find who’s intent on stopping it.” 

She looked at them expectantly. 

“Oh, well,” said Polly. “We did a little recon last night, but we didn’t find anything interesting.” 

Recon had mostly consisted of sneaking into the other delegations’ rooms to get the lay of the land, and vaguely hoping one of them would be stupid enough to leave a file marked “Evil Master Plan” on the table. They hadn't been. 

“But it’s rather obvious,” said Mal airily. “Zlobenia’s here, and they never seemed very interested in peace.” 

“People would have said the same about Borogravia until very recently!” protested Wazzer. “Maybe Prince Heinrich had a change of heart!”

“And perhaps Polly’s really able to grow a beard,” said Mal. Polly snorted. 

“Well.” Wazzer pursed her lips. “You should interrogate him at tonight’s ball, then.” 

“Sorry?” said Polly.

“ _Ball!?_ ” said Maladict.

*

“You look obscene,” said Polly.

“We’re just lucky I packed this thing,” said Mal. She tightened some straps. The effect was… hypnotizing. Polly moved her eyes up. Kept them on Maladict’s face. But even her face wasn’t quite right. With all the make up she had on, it was like a bad painting of Maladict, one done by a man. 

“Is this what it was like for you, er, growing up?” asked Polly. She didn’t actually know if Maladict had “grown up” as such. Was there even such a thing as child vampires? 

But Maladict nodded moodily in response. 

“I can see why you left then.” 

“I hate this,” muttered Maladict. She frowned at herself in a mirror she had made Polly procure. (“Stupid stereotype,” she’d said. “Only the really old school vampires can’t use mirrors.”)

Polly touched her shoulder sympathetically. 

People had gotten used to her and Maladict being women in the Army. Or, at least if they weren’t used to it they were smart enough to shut up about it. But here, Maladict had gone back to being a _Woman_ , which was another way to say object, and it didn’t seem to matter that she could rip the head off any of the men who looked at her. 

Mostly, the men seemed more interested in whether or not Polly could fight them off, like they were all dogs and she had the juiciest bone. Polly didn’t have any reason to think the ball would be different. 

“Next time I’ll be the one who has to wear the dress,” said Polly, keeping her voice light. She squeezed Maladict’s shoulder. It was soft, and as soon as Polly registered that, she blushed and moved her hand. Why was she thinking about how Maladict’s _skin_ felt? 

In the mirror, Mal was looking at her oddly. She looked a little put out, Polly realized. A different sort of put out from how she had a minute ago. But the look swiftly disappeared and Maladict turned around. 

“You’d look ridiculous in a dress. But. Maybe not as ridiculous as you do in that beard.” 

Polly laughed, relieved at the familiar barbs. She offered Maladict her arm. 

“Shall we?” 

*

The delegations hadn’t brought many women with them – or at least not women who admitted to such, amended Polly, as she watched General Froc bow and take the arm of Count Hillendorf’s wife. Polly did spot Wazzer hiding shyly behind some curtains, in the kind of dress a four-year-old might wear to her birthday party, but besides her (and Maladict), the remaining women were wives of the delegates – formidable, middle-aged women for the most part – or, and this was perhaps the true purpose of the ball, Mouldovian nobility. It was a time-honored though not very reliable belief that marrying off your daughters meant your son-in-laws would be less likely to attack you. 

One young woman, dazzling and graceful in a gem-encrusted gown, made a beeline for Prince Heinrich. Polly watched her with a curious lack of envy. Once, she would have sighed a little over the beauty of the gown and the intricate updo the woman wore. But now, she could only mentally critique the impracticality of the woman’s footwear. Polly wanted to take the noblewoman aside, let her know there was a world where she wouldn’t have to dance with a smarmy prince all night just to try to secure her country’s future.

“You do realize that’s going to be me soon,” said Maladict, leaning in close to Polly. “Also, stop staring. You’re going to make me jealous.” 

“Sorry,” said Polly. She shifted away from Mal slightly. “And you know I hate that.”

“Hate what?” asked Maladict, voice mild and even. Polly glanced at her, but Maladict’s expression was smooth and pleasant. Unnaturally pleasant. 

“When you act like you can read my mind.” 

Maladict laughed faintly. “It didn’t take an expert to figure out what you were thinking.” She rolled her shoulder smoothly in the direction of the young woman, who was now dancing with Heinrich. “You want to rescue the princess.” 

“Princess?” 

“A minor one,” said Maladict, with a barely detectable sniff. 

Privately, Polly thought it must be nice to be able to make distinctions between minor princesses and major ones. Then, something Maladict had said earlier finally caught up to her.

“What did you mean – that’s going to be you soon?” 

“Well,” said Maladict, and her voice was even more pleasant and even now. It made the hair stand up on the back of Polly’s neck. She moved a few steps to her left, so that she would be directly in Heinrich’s line of sight, then not-so-subtly adjusted her, er, Polly thought the proper term was _décolletage_. 

“We have to get information out of him somehow.” 

Sure enough, after another dance with the (minor) princess, Heinrich swept over to where Maladict and Polly were standing. It was odd to think of someone as _sweeping_ somewhere, when they didn’t have a broom. But that was how Heinrich moved, a kind of gallant zooming that must be taught to noble children. At least to the boy children. All the noblewomen in the room seemed to have been taught a kind of glide instead. 

“Baroness Maladoria,” said Heinrich once he’d swept all the way over. He bent low and kissed Maladict’s hand. “If I may be so bold, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

“The pleasure is mine,” said Maladict with a throaty purr. She batted her eyelashes at the prince. Polly suppressed a twitch. “I’ve heard much about your… _prowess_ in battle.”

Polly did her very best not to laugh at that, but still let out a little hiccup. 

Heinrich straightened up and flicked his eyes contemptuously over Polly. Polly tried to look imposing, but even in her (discreetly) heeled boots, she barely came up to the Prince’s nose. 

“Yes, well, anyway, I wanted to speak with you. I think there’s much our two countries could discuss,” said Heinrich, looking back at Maladict, the same sly smile on his face. Polly wanted to kick him. 

Maladict giggled. It was a horrible sound, and then she covered her mouth with one surprisingly dainty hand. And what was _that_? She had never thought of Maladict’s hands as _dainty_ before. 

Heinrich turned to smile at Polly, a cold, mocking smile. 

“May I?” he asked, as he held his arm out to Maladict. Maladict took it and looked at Polly. Her eyes communicated, “I could just kill him now.” Polly looked back, her eyes saying, “I wish, but we have to wait.” 

Then she forced herself to meet Heinrich’s eyes and laugh, jovial and gruff. 

“Of course! Just don’t keep her too long. Har har har.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Heinrich with another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned, and he and Maladict swept and glided off together. 

They danced for, in Polly’s opinion, far too long. 

She sidled over towards the curtains Wazzer – who was now dancing rather awkwardly with General Froc – had been hiding in. Polly wanted to avoid getting too close to anyone in the Borogravian delegation. She also wanted to keep an eye on Maladict and Heinrich. 

And then she saw him, looking rather dour and standing in a corner of his own: Duke Vimes. 

*

Maladict found her later hiding behind a plate of cheese. 

“You’ve really taken being a Cheesemonger to heart,” said Mal dryly. 

“Vimes is here,” hissed Polly. 

“Vimes? The Butcher?” asked Maladict. She scanned the room and spotted him. He was talking to General Froc. But he glanced up as if he felt Maladict’s eyes on him and glanced at them. His expression was unreadable, and then he went back to his conversation. 

“Why do you think Ankh-Morpork is here?” asked Polly. She didn’t have anything against Vimes per se, and probably had a lot of reasons to be grateful towards him. But she didn’t trust him. Or more accurately, she didn’t trust Ankh-Morpork. Probably for the same reasons no one trusted Maladict. 

“They’re probably trying to figure out how to make money off this,” said Maladict, with a shrug. She bared her canines in a grin. It was unsettling. “But we have more important things to discuss. Heinrich wants to ally with Uberwald and invade Borogravia.”

“ _He told you that?_ ” 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Maladict. “Because I know you’re not. He didn’t say it using his words, as such. But it was pretty obvious that was what he was hinting at. We’re going to meet to talk more tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” Polly scowled. She wanted to say something about how it would be dangerous for Maladict to meet with Heinrich alone, but that was blatantly untrue and there wouldn’t have been any point in subjecting herself to mockery over it.

Maladict leaned up and nibbled on her earlobe. Polly felt a bolt go through her. She nearly dropped her plate. 

“Are you jealous?”

“I’m going to stake you,” she whispered back, red and furious. 

Maladict laughed softly, and the effect on Polly was bizarre. Her skin seemed to tighten all over and her stomach clenched. She shivered. 

“You say the sweetest things, darling,” simpered Maladict.

“Oh, go away,” snapped Polly.

Maladict actually _pouted_ at her. 

“You’re not doing a very good job acting as my devoted man-slave, Chad.” 

“I thought I was your consort.” 

“With human-vampire relations, it’s the same thing.” 

Polly snorted. “Do you want me to dance with you?” 

The words were out of her mouth before she could think them through. Maladict raised her eyebrows. 

“It would be more convincing. But…” Maladict narrowed her eyes. “Do you even know how to dance?” 

“I do!” said Polly defensively. And she did, in a manner. Dancing happened at the Duchess occasionally, and Polly had picked up some steps there. 

“Besides the quaint and charming folk jigs you learned at your inn,” corrected Maladict, but she was already grabbing Polly’s arms and pulling Polly almost flush against her. 

Polly tried to reposition herself, but Maladict’s grip was too strong. She dragged her out onto the dance floor. 

“I’m supposed to lead,” said Polly sullenly. 

“I’m making it look like you are,” said Maladict, with her usual calm condescension. “Calm down, Ozzer.” 

Polly made a small, strangled noise. Something about the way Maladict was touching her and looking at her was setting off a confused panic in her mind, like that of a crowd that has smelled smoke but hasn’t yet seen the fire. 

They danced the rest of the evening, and the smoke never really went away. 

*

Over the next few days, negotiations went more smoothly than Polly would have expected. There already existed a tentative peace between Zlobenia and Borogravia, hard won from the last war. However, that the last war had ended a mere three weeks ago did not give anyone much faith in the long term endurance of that peace. It had a rather asthmatic quality to it. But the presence of a vampire from Uberwald, very keen on just how exactly the humans proposed to work together, seemed to hurry along the parties quite nicely. 

The gist of the proposal, to Polly, seemed that all the little countries in the region would agree not to attack each other anymore, and if one did attack, the other countries would agree to all gang up together and fight that one. It seemed rather sensible, and Polly wondered why no one had thought of it before.

There was also quite a lot about exports and tariffs and cultural exchanges that made a lot less sense. It had been very hard to stay awake when the meetings got into some of the finer details, but Polly knew falling asleep would only draw attention from the Borogravian delegation. Or Duke Vimes. Polly was keen to avoid both. 

But, as bored as Polly was at times, the negotiations were particularly wearing on Maladict. 

“Oh, right,” she snapped to Wazzer one morning as Wazzer interrogated them on what they’d found. “This is fun for me. I love spending all my time listening to arguments about export limitations on chocolate and beets and hand-painted clogs while batting my eyelashes at Heinrich.”

Heinrich had been long on the compliments but low on the useful intelligence. He’d brought flowers to his first meeting with Maladict and spent the whole time talking to her chest. Polly knew this, because Polly had spent the meeting hiding behind a conveniently long and thick pair of curtains. 

“I could just shake it out of him,” Maladict had said afterwards, a distinctly vampiric gleam in her eyes. It had taken most of Polly’s willpower to convince her otherwise. 

“Export limitations are extremely important,” protested Wazzer, in the present, expression fervent. “Healthy trade between countries forms the basis for a long-lasting peace.” 

“Right,” said Polly, trying to cut off the argument before it could really get started (and a small part of her was proud of Wazzer, standing up to Maladict!). She made her best, 'I am being very reasonable' expression at Mal. “Would you rather have someone trying to ram a pike through your head?” 

The scowl Maladict gave her was all the answer she needed. 

That day, at least, things seemed to be wrapping up. Or, at least, as afternoon dragged into twilight and Polly’s stomach began to grumble for dinner, they were no longer on the subject of beets.

“Of course,” said the Count with the look of a man who has now come to a painful task he can no longer put off. “There’s the matter of the military.” 

General Froc directed an icy look at him. 

“The military?” 

“Yes,” said Hillendorf. His voice faltered only slightly in the full light of Froc’s direct glare. “There should be a limit on the size of, ah, each country’s military.” 

“I see no reason for that to apply to Borogravia,” snapped Froc. “We have a long, proud history of military accomplishment. It would be against our national character.” 

Mal and Polly exchanged a Look at that. But… even though Froc was full of, well, full of it, Polly couldn’t help but wonder how a smaller army would affect _her_. That was the thing about peace, she suddenly realized. Was there going to be any use for Polly in a peace? And she’d only been at soldiering for a year. No wonder Jackrum had retired. Mal’s Look said something similar. 

Hillendorf continued doggedly. “Borogravia has quite a large standing army for a country of its size. And you can understand why that makes so many of its neighbors uncomfortable.” 

“It’s necessary in order to protect ourselves from our enemies.” 

Polly was amazed Froc was able to say that with a straight face. Maladict seemed similarly impressed. The assorted delegates, however, did not, and there was some definite muttering and shuffling of the “now wait a minute” kind. Wazzer, who spent negotiations sitting at Froc’s elbow, taking notes, tensed. 

“But that’s the whole point of the treaty! It will no longer be necessary to protect yourselves alone. We'll all protect each other.” 

Froc scoffed. “This is outrageous. I should have known this was nothing more than an attempt to weaken Borogravia!” 

“General Froc," snapped Hillendorf, "if you are not willing to negotiate in good faith, then Borogravia will find itself on the outside of a significant military and political force!” 

“Is that a threat from Mouldovia?” said Froc. The room got suddenly very chilly. 

“Maybe we should break for dinner,” said a voice from the back. The assembled dignitaries turned. Duke Vimes, who did spend most of the negotiations asleep, had lifted his head off his table and spoken. 

“Oh, please!” said Maladict, and Polly nearly started out of her seat. Maladict smiled slowly and malevolently, taking in the assembled dignitaries. “All this bloodthirstiness has made me quite hungry.” 

That did the trick. People were only too happy to get out. But, as everyone walked swiftly towards the doors and away from Maladict, Polly caught sight of Prince Heinrich. 

He was smiling. 

*

To everyone’s surprise, Froc was more amenable the next morning. 

“After consulting with the Duchess," she said to the assembled conference, "we’ve concluded that Borogravia would be better served by using the assembled might and talent of its military towards internal projects within Borogravia.” 

“Sounds ominous,” muttered Maladict. Polly snorted. 

“Oh,” said Hillendorf. He deflated slightly, a man denied an argument he had been prepared to have. “Well. Let’s get started talking numbers, then.” 

The rest of the day dragged on in a swirl of troop numbers and quibbles over definitions. And then, finally, miraculously, they seemed to be done.

Count Hillendorf looked around the room with the flinching air of a man who had been interrupted one too many times by a, "Can I just say...?" This time, however, no one spoke. The whole room seemed to be one indrawn breath of anticipation.

"I suppose," said the count, breaking the silence finally, "we'll be able to sign tomorrow. Assuming no one else has any objections."

He frowned firmly in the direction of the Borogravian delegation who, to a man (or woman), shrugged. 

Then he smiled. "That's - "

“Wonderful,” said Heinrich, interrupting with a glittering smile. “Of course, Borogravia has no one with the right to sign the treaty.”

Wazzer looked up, her narrow face suddenly nervous. 

“The Duchess said I was the right person to sign,” she said. It was the first time she'd spoken in the entire course of the negotiations. Her voice was tiny.

Heinrich looked at General Froc and his smile got wider.

“What do you think, General?” 

Froc sprung to her feet, her hand on her sword. 

“This is an outrage!” she cried. “Alice speaks on behalf of the sovereign of Borogravia.” 

Hillendorf paled. His goatee seemed to lose it curl a bit.

“Now, gentlemen,” he began. But it was no use.

Heinrich stepped back, obviously startled by the ferocity of Froc’s reaction. But that didn’t make sense, thought Polly. Of course Froc would be offended. 

“The Duchess,” hissed Heinrich, when he realized Froc wasn’t about to spontaneously back down, “is dead.” 

There was an outraged – and hypocritical, in Polly’s opinion – clamor from the Borogravian delegation. Wazzer turned pink. Polly saw her mouth the words, “But that doesn’t mean she’s not _around_.”

“This is going to get ugly,” said Mal in a low voice. Polly nodded her agreement. Half the Borogravian delegation had their hands on their swords – and whose bright idea was that? To allow weapons at a peace conference? 

The Zlobenian delegation had closed in around Prince Heinrich, and soon, the other delegations were also hunkering together. At a frantic gesture from Count Hillendorf, Mouldovian guardsmen began to stream into the room. 

“Grab Wazzer,” said Polly, and she backed up towards the window. It was cool outside, but it had gotten warm in the conference room during negotiations from the press of people. The window was open and it was a short drop down. 

Mal moved as swiftly and smoothly as running water. She was standing next to Polly, and then she was standing next to Polly still, but this time she had a very shocked Wazzer in her arms. 

“Time to go,” said Polly, and she jumped out of the window.

*

“Did you see that Heinrich looked to Froc?” said Polly as they crossed the castle grounds hurriedly. She was trying to piece together what had just happened. From behind, she could hear shouts, but, thankfully, no actual fighting. Yet. “He was expecting Froc to agree with him.” 

“But why would Froc agree?” snapped Maladict. “She spent the whole summer _fighting_ Heinrich. And last summer, too!” 

“I don’t know!”

“I don’t understand!” wailed Wazzer. She was in tears. “The Duchess said I was supposed to be the one to sign!” 

"We'll figure it out," Polly assured. "We're almost to our - " 

It was then that they stumbled over the corpse. It – or rather, he, once Polly got a closer look at him – was lying in front of their doorway. The corpse was pale, as if. As if, she realized, someone had drained all his blood. 

She took a step back and looked wildly at Maladict, who was staring at the corpse with an ashen expression. Her arms went limp, and Wazzer pulled away, trying to put Polly between her and the corpse.

“I didn’t,” said Mal. She looked up at Polly, eyes wide. “You know I didn’t.” 

“I know,” said Polly hurriedly. And she did. Even if Maladict were back on blood, she wouldn’t be so careless as to leave a corpse just lying around like this. That was _sloppy_ , and Maladict was anything but sloppy. 

“So why – ” began Maladict, but it was at that point the hue and cry was raised. 

“There they are!” shouted a voice. They all three turned. A palace guard unit was advancing towards them. They must have been conveniently nearby, though, at least, they were also conveniently stupid enough to give away their location so early. Polly jumped over the body and into their rooms, Mal and Wazzer had the good sense to be right behind her. They shut the door quickly behind them. 

Wazzer was still crying.

“Wazzer!” bellowed Polly. “Private Goon! Pull yourself together!” 

Remarkably, that worked. Wazzer stood at attention. 

“Great,” said Polly. She leaned against the door, not that it would do much good once the guards started pounding at it. “Go upstairs and hide. Claim we kidnapped you if they find you. If they don’t, find…” She paused. Who the hell could they trust right now? She sighed. 

“Find Duke Vimes.” 

“But I want to help! I – ”

“Did I ask for your opinion, private!” roared Polly. 

“No, sir!” shouted Wazzer back, a familiar, pinched look of fear on her face. Polly almost felt bad. 

“ _Then why are you still standing here?_ ”

Wazzer ran upstairs. 

The guards began pounding at the door. Polly could feel each thump in her spine. 

Maladict flicked open one of the curtains to stare out and scowled. “Only eight guards. I think we can take them.”

“We can’t hurt them!” said Polly. “That would only make things worse!” 

“So what should we do?” 

“I don’t know!” snapped Polly. This had all gotten out of hand far too quickly. “Obviously someone is framing us. Someone doesn’t want us here. They don’t want us to…” 

Didn't want them to what? Negotiations already seemed like they were falling apart. Borogravia and Zlobenia would no doubt be at war again by the next morning. So did someone think Mal and Polly were trying to stop that? Or did they just not want Uberwald involved?

“It’s Heinrich obviously,” hissed Maladict. 

“I don’t know if this is his style,” said Polly. “It’s too _subtle_.” 

The door began to shake at its hinges. They didn’t have much time before there was a fight on their hands. 

“Mal…” said Polly, but she had no idea what she was going to say. 

Maladict grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at Polly with a screwed up intensity that made Polly’s heart freeze in her chest. 

“I promise I’ll come back for you,” said Maladict.

“What?” said Polly. 

Maladict kissed her. It was soft and surprisingly warm. And surprising in general. 

“ _What_!” said Polly, only Maladict’s mouth was muffling hers and it came out more like, “ _Mmwa!_ ”

Maladict pulled away. 

“Sorry,” she said, with the tense, blurred look Polly tended to associate with coffee-related breakdowns, but Maladict _had_ been drinking her coffee, so why – 

There was another hard bang against the door, and Polly’s mind reverted back to the issue at hand. 

“You _kissed_ me!” 

“I did,” said Maladict, acknowledging the fact with a brief, cool nod. 

And then she turned into a great a swarm of bats. 

“Oh, damn you!” shouted Polly. 

The door burst open, and the bats streamed out, over the heads of the guards. Polly stood her ground and glared. 

“If you’re going to arrest me,” she said, pulling her beard off, eyes watering a little at the pain, “I have to warn you about who I am.” 

The guards froze. One, towards the back, turned to watch the cloud of bats disappear over the roofs of the castle. He muttered, with a gratifying hint of awed fear, “ _The monstrous regiment_.” 

Polly didn’t have space to draw her saber. She ran for the candlesticks. Unfortunately, one of the guards hadn’t read the part of the manual that said you should always give the hero a fighting chance, and grabbed her by the back of her collar. 

*

As jail cells went, it wasn’t a bad one, but they had shackled Polly to the wall. If it had been a proper narrative, there would have been a ring of keys carelessly left just within reach of Polly’s foot. There wasn’t, a reality made even more annoying by the fact she had naturally been left with only one elderly, slumbering guard. But it was probably just as well. She didn’t think she had long enough toes or the flexibility to then unlock the shackles even if she had been able to reach the keys. 

Maybe at least Maladict would show up soon. 

Maladict did not, which left Polly with plenty of time to think. She should have been thinking about how to get out of here, or figuring out who had framed them. But she wasn’t. 

She was thinking about Maladict kissing her. In retrospect, she should have seen it coming. Maladict had dropped enough hints. But, she thought, feeling foolish, it was exactly like how she and Maladict and the others had managed to trick so many people into thinking they were boys: people don’t look for what they don’t expect to see. 

But shouldn’t you have been expecting to see it? asked a small, treacherous voice in her brain. It’s not like the idea was completely new to her. She had, after all, known Tonker and Lufty. 

But this was different, she argued back. Maladict was a vampire. It would be vain to think Maladict felt that way about Polly. Maladict was cool and collected and elegant, even in the middle of a battlefield. She was funny and sharp and basically fearless, and, for all she was a vampire, she understood Polly better than anyone else ever had. Polly trusted her totally. Polly – 

Polly wanted to kiss her back. 

Oh, thought Polly. She felt her face warm. 

It's one thing to not realize your friend badly wants to kiss you; it’s quite another not to realize how badly you want to kiss her back. 

Polly wasn’t left alone with her revelation for long. The door to the jail banged open, and the single guard jerked awake on his stool, nearly toppling over in the process. Polly looked up hopefully.

Prince Heinrich strode in. 

“Private Perks!” he barked, as soon as he spotted her. He advanced angrily. 

“It’s Sergeant now,” said Polly coolly. She was suddenly very grateful for the bars that stood between her and Heinrich. 

Heinrich ignored her. 

“You,” he snarled at the guard. “Keys.” 

The guard took one look at Heinrich, then one look at Polly, and then, with an apologetic shrug, tossed Heinrich the keys and fled. 

So much for the valor of the Mouldovan soldier, thought Polly with disgust. No wonder Borogravia had successfully invaded them so many times. 

The prince smirked. It had none of the style of a vampire, and all the self-satisfied cruelty. 

“I should have known you were involved,” he said, unlocking the cell. “I knew there was something strange about you. It was absurd to think the baroness would be involved with someone like ‘Chad.’”

“You forget,” said Polly. “I am a war hero.” 

She was trying to think. Heinrich had been expecting Froc to back him up, and when Froc hadn’t, he’d looked like a fool. Like he was already trying to break the treaty. 

And he hadn’t known who Maladict really was, she realized. Or else he wouldn’t seem so surprised now. Someone else was trying to get her and Maladict out of the way.

Heinrich loomed over her. 

“What else is Borogravia plotting?” he demanded. 

Polly looked steadily up at him. 

“If I were really working with General Froc,” she told him, “do you really think I’d be chained up right now?” 

That gave him a pause. 

“What?” he said. 

There was nothing for it. Polly sighed. Then, she kicked the prince in the ol’ fruit-and-veg. Heinrich went down with a whimper. 

“You really should know better by now,” Polly told him, though she was already regretting her decision. She was quite literally chained up. Once Heinrich was up on his feet again, there wasn’t any way she could realistically continue to defend herself. 

Sure enough, Heinrich’s face was red and livid with rage once he finally got back up. 

“I should kill you here,” he said, voice high. He reached for his sword. Polly kicked his hand and he cursed. 

“That’s enough, Your Highness,” said a new voice. 

Vimes stood in the doorway. He looked unimpressed. Wazzer stood slightly behind him, looking timid but proud. 

Heinrich turned on them, bristling. 

“This was an act of sabotage!” he protested. “The Borogravian delegation set out to undermine this conference’s proceedings from the beginning!” 

Polly tried to kick him again, but he was smart enough to step out of reach this time. 

“That’s not true!” she shouted. Though, admittedly, she wasn’t really sure on that point anymore. 

Heinrich looked suddenly calculating. He looked at Vimes, apparently planning on appealing to the unquestionable might and deeply questionable wisdom of Ankh-Morpork. 

“I have proof,” he said. 

“I’m sure you do,” said Vimes. 

He walked past Heinrich and lifted the keys from the floor where Heinrich had dropped them.

Vimes unlocked her shackles, and then, casually, handed Polly a sword. Her sword. He must have collected it as he came in. She held it tightly and looked at Heinrich. His hand was on his hilt. She wondered if this were some kind of test from Vimes.

She wouldn’t have been able to kill Heinrich a year ago – not morally, and probably not physically either. But it had been a long and bloody summer, and that had mostly been Heinrich’s fault. She wouldn’t care about his death, and she liked her chances in a fight – even with the advantage he had in reach. She knew a trick or two. 

“I need to speak with General Froc,” said Polly, turning. She buckled her sword to her belt. Vimes gave her a tiny nod. 

The thought settled on Polly with absolute certainty: Prince Heinrich was an idiot, but he wouldn’t have acted the way he had unless he had been very sure of General Froc’s support.

She walked past Heinrich, her back tensed for a blow. But it never came. With far more relief than she was willing to show, she marched out of the jail, Duke Vimes and Wazzer trailing behind her. Heinrich, for once, seemed to recognize he’d been outplayed. He stayed behind. 

No one challenged them as they walked across the castle grounds towards where the Borogravian delegation was quartered. It was no doubt due to Vimes’ presence. 

Then, a swarm of bats plunged from the sky, and as they dropped, coalesced into a familiar, extremely naked shape. Maladict hit Vimes square in the back, and he fell face first into the dirt. Wazzer yelped and sprang back. 

“Oh – ” shouted Polly, and let out a swear that, a year ago, she would have turned pink just to hear. “Can’t you see I’m fine?” 

Mal, defiant, scowled up at her. She was very, very, very naked and it was all Polly could do to maintain eye contact. This was all rather too much right after Polly’s jail cell revelation.

“Here,” said Polly, bright red. She took off her coat and handed it to Maladict. 

“I didn’t realize you’d already been rescued,” said Maladict, with a glare for Vimes, who said something garbled into the mud. She wrapped Polly’s coat around her and stood with haughty grace. It was irritating how quickly Mal could overcome an embarrassment like dropping naked from the sky. 

“I wasn’t rescued!” said Polly, offended. “I had it under control!” 

“Sorry,” said Vimes. He wiped mud off his face and stood up with considerably less grace and considerably more creaking bones than Mal had. “I hadn’t realized.”

Polly flushed and turned on him. “What _are_ you doing here anyway?

“Officially, I’m here to serve a neutral observer and to keep the peace. Unofficially, I think I’m supposed to convince you all to lower tariffs on Ankh-Morpork goods so our merchants can make money off you. And sell your natural resources to us at a lower price. Such as you have them,” he added skeptically. 

"I told you he was just here to make money," whispered Maladict.

Polly frowned and ignored her. “That seems very underhanded.” 

Vimes laughed humorlessly. “Sooner or later Borogravia will have to learn it’s not just war that can ruin a country.” 

“Well, there’s also famine and pestilence,” said Maladict. 

“And earthquakes,” added Polly. 

“And the exploitation of the workers by the profit-seeking class!” That was Wazzer’s contribution. 

“Er,” said Vimes. “Right.” 

“But none of that’s important right now. We need to talk to General Froc,” said Polly. 

“Do we?” said Maladict. She perked up with interest. “Do you think we’ll get court-martialed? Again?” 

She didn’t sound displeased at the prospect. 

Polly shrugged. “Probably.” 

“So you think the General – ”

“I do! Froc doesn’t want the military – ”

“And Heinrich would have been happy to play along if he thought – ”

“Exactly! But where do you think Froc got the – ”

“An Igor, I’d wager. It didn’t smell _fresh_. Don’t give me that look! You know what a fresh corpse smells like just as well as I do by now.”

“But you forget I lack your elite vampire senses,” said Polly. 

She was rewarded with a laugh. 

*

They found General Froc in her quarters, seated at a writing desk. The room around her was abuzz as the Borogravian delegation argued over what to do next. Outside, a whole troop of Mouldovian guards stood silently. They’d let Polly and the rest through, though, so clearly their job wasn’t to keep people out. 

General Froc seemed calm though. She was writing a letter. 

“Everyone out!” roared Polly. 

Half the ruperts stopped what they were doing, and about half of those instinctively began to shuffle towards the door. The rest just stared at her. A murmuring sweep of recognition went through the room. It sounded like they were saying, “This again?” 

Maladict took a step forward and cleared her throat. 

“In case some of you didn’t hear Sergeant Perks, she said, _Everyone out!”_

__Human instincts prevailed where soldierly ones had not. Half the room cleared out, and the rest, at a cool nod from Froc, escaped as well. It was not the most orderly retreat Polly had ever seen._ _

__“You escaped rather more quickly than I was expecting you, too,” she said to Polly. She glanced at Vimes, who shrugged, and then, with a quick eyebrow raise at Polly that she interpreted as, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he left the room as well. Polly was grateful. This was Borogravian business._ _

__“But I suppose you do have some powerful allies,” said Froc, once Vimes had left._ _

__“I had it under control,” said Polly. She felt suddenly, calmly furious. She marched up to Froc’s desk and sat down across from it. Froc raised her eyebrows._ _

__“You put Heinrich up to it,” said Polly. “You wanted there to be another excuse to fight a war.”_ _

__The General stared at her coldly._ _

__“Prince Heinrich is an idiot,” she said. “He didn’t need to be ‘put up’ to anything. And _you_ needed to stop playing with your ‘beard’ so much if you didn't want to be found out.”_ _

__Polly touched her chin self-consciously. Maladict crowed with delight._ _

__“Now is not the time, corporal,” snapped Polly. She turned her attention back to the General. “You endangered the entire peace process! And for what?”_ _

__Froc laughed. It wasn't a happy sound._ _

__“Would it mean peace for Borogravia to have our army’s numbers chopped in half? With Heinrich still slavering for the throne? Words and paper are all very _nice_ , Sergeant Perks, but a country’s sovereignty can only be preserved by the sword.” _ _

__Polly stared back at her. It all clicked for her._ _

__“You made a scene over the military limitations, so Prince Heinrich felt like he had something to hold over you. Then when you went back on your word to back him for Borogravia’s new king, or whatever, you made him look like _he_ was sabotaging the conference. So Borogravia wouldn’t have to give up anything. So you’d still be in charge. And you tried to get rid of me and Mal because you knew we'd try to stop you. Which we are.”_ _

__“It’s not about personal ambition, Perks,” said Froc, though she seemed grudgingly impressed. “What’s the purpose of an army if there’s no one to fight?”_ _

__“Maybe there doesn’t need to be an army then!” cried Polly. Maladict nodded fervently next to her._ _

__“Really? You want to go back to being a barmaid and a…” Froc trailed off while she took in what Maladict was wearing. “This.”_ _

__“So what?” said Maladict. “The army is just a giant public works program?”_ _

__“It’s more than that, Who do you think actually handles the day to day governing of Borogravia?”_ _

__There was an uneasy silence. Maladict and Polly looked at each other. Borogravia hadn’t descended into lawlessness and chaos, exactly, especially since there had been _another_ war to fight, but Polly had been surprised at just how much of an effect Nuggan’s ‘death’ had had. If even the little Abominations didn’t matter, some people seemed to think, why should the big ones against killing and stealing matter either? _ _

__The problem was, there were always going to be people who wanted someone with a bigger stick, so then they could feel like they had permission to go around smacking people with a smaller stick._ _

__Nuggan had been a very big stick._ _

__And now the military was that stick. Endless war meant someone would always be in charge to run the war, which meant someone would always be in charge to run the country._ _

__“That’s what I thought,” said Froc, into the silence. “People like to know who’s in charge. That’s why so many people enlist in the army.”_ _

__“People like to be left alone,” said Polly._ _

__“Really?” asked Froc, looking interested. “Have you asked them?”_ _

__“The Duchess doesn’t think that,” said a small, reedy voice. They all started. Wazzer was seated in the corner. Somehow, in the hubbub, she had been overlooked._ _

__Wazzer gazed back at them all, with a familiar, eerie, serenity._ _

__“The people want peace,” she said. “That’s what they pray for. They want their crops to grow and their children to be healthy and to be able to sleep in some mornings.”_ _

__It wasn’t all as nice as that, thought Polly. She knew people. People also wanted everyone to be just like them. They wanted to be in each other’s business and boss each other around. They were lazy and greedy and reckless. But, people could also be kind and brave, and mostly, in her experience, people did all just want to go home and have dinner and sleep in the next morning._ _

__Wazzer could do at least as well as a painting, realized Polly suddenly. Wazzer, most of anyone, knew what people could be like, but she still seemed to care about them anyway._ _

__Polly took a deep breath. She had known, intellectually, there would probably need to be a day when she blackmailed the commander of the Borogravian army. She didn’t think it would be so soon into her career._ _

__“Waz – Alice will sign the treaty. The Duchess already told her she had the power to, right?” said Polly. “So we’ll make up some lie about how she’s the Duchess’ long-lost daughter or something. Most people already believe something like that anyway.”_ _

__There had been a flourishing trade in rumors about Wazzer’s origins in the days after last summer’s victory. It wouldn’t be hard to resurrect it._ _

__“And if I don’t agree?” said Froc._ _

__"If you don’t agree, William de Worde will have the list of every woman officer masquerading as a man within a week.”_ _

__Polly leaned across the desk. She could hear her heart hammering in her ears._ _

__“And just how manageable do you think the Borogravian people would be once that got out, _Mildred _?”___ _

____“You’re bluffing,” said Froc levelly. Her eyes were hard, cold stars._ _ _ _

____“I was Jackrum’s last student,” said Polly, holding the general’s gaze. “I know better than to bluff.”_ _ _ _

____“And if you touch her, I’ll have your head off in a second,” added Maladict, sounding bored. She examined her nails and then smiled politely at Froc. “Begging your pardon, sir.”_ _ _ _

____“And that,” said Polly. Having a vampire at your back did immense favors for one’s courage, once, of course, your hindbrain stopped screaming at you about having your back exposed to a vampire._ _ _ _

____Finally, Froc frowned and sat back in her seat._ _ _ _

____“Very well,” she said._ _ _ _

____Polly almost collapsed from relief. She stood up slowly, and Maladict, with a look of concern, caught Polly under the arm and steadied her. Polly blushed at the contact._ _ _ _

____“You realize Alice will just be a figurehead, don’t you?” asked Froc._ _ _ _

____Polly looked at where Wazzer. She was still sitting in the corner. There was a strength beneath the serenity in her gaze Polly hadn’t seen before._ _ _ _

____“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, and this time, she was bluffing a little. But only a little._ _ _ _

____Polly and Maladict went to leave. Mal’s arm was still around her._ _ _ _

____“Perks?”_ _ _ _

____“Sir?” said Polly, turning. Froc leaned back in her chair. Her hands were steepled._ _ _ _

____“Jackrum carried me fourteen miles. What goodwill have you earned?”_ _ _ _

____Polly smiled. “Didn’t you hear? I helped save the country.”_ _ _ _

____Being a war hero – even a nontraditional one – had some, well, perks._ _ _ _

____*_ ___

__Three days later, the treaty was signed to much fanfare. Polly and Mal were not in attendance, though the picture Polly saw of the signing was quite expressive. (Otto Chriek and William de Worde had arrived just moments after Polly and Mal had departed, much to Polly’s relief.) Heinrich looked sour, Count Hillendorf stunned, Froc bemused, and Wazzer – Wazzer looked radiant. Almost as if a light were haloing her._ _

____

____

“It’s a good picture of Wazzer,” said Mal, when Polly put the photo down. Mal was bent down, reading a letter that had come with the photo. A cup of coffee steamed gently in her other hand. Both letter and photo had come from Vimes, dropped from the sky by a suspiciously non-native bird. 

They were in an inn, the respectable kind of inn that Polly’s dad would have approved of, where the staff was discreet enough to not do more than bat an eye at a grossly disheveled young… person and an artfully disheveled young vampire once they saw the color of their coin. 

“It is,” said Polly. She studied Mal with a tight, agitated feeling in her chest. 

In the whirlwind of getting out of town before the Mouldovian guards realized both the Baroness Maladoria and her consort Chad were missing, and having to explain that the ex-sanguinated body had been a body before it had been ex-sanguinated, there hadn’t been much time to talk. The two of them had been riding hard since leaving Chinsnow, but Polly figured they were far enough away to breathe easy for a day or two.

Maybe there was time to talk now. 

Polly cleared her throat. “So – ” 

“I talked to Vimes, right before we left.” 

“Oh.” Polly blinked. She glanced at the letter. What _had_ Vimes written? “That werewolf is still in his watch – the woman.” 

“I’m sure she’d prefer not to be thought of as ‘the woman’,” said Polly. She was suddenly annoyed. 

Maladict rolled her eyes. “You’re being sensitive.” She paused, as if waiting for Polly to respond to the condescension, but Polly busied herself by ignoring Maladict instead. Maladict went on. 

“There’s a zombie in his watch, too. Apparently he was at Kneck while we were there.” 

“Huh,” said Polly.

“So I expect he wouldn’t have much of a problem with someone like me.” 

Polly took a second. Maladict’s head was still bent over the letter. She’d avoided looking Polly ever since she read it. 

“Someone _like_ you?” Polly asked. Her chest gave a painful squeeze. “Or someone who _is_ you?”

Maladict couldn’t leave, she thought. Not again.

Not now. 

Finally, Mal looked up. She had a hard, intent look on her face, the look of someone bracing for a fight. 

“What do I have keeping me in Borogravia? You know we’ll be the first ones Froc makes redundant. And I’m not going back to… all that.”

“There might be another war,” said Polly. “Do you think Heinrich will really stop?” 

Maladict shrugged. “Probably not. He’ll probably be trying to marry Wazzer next year.” 

Polly shuddered. Maladict favored her with a razor smile and raised her cup of coffee in a toast.

“At least thanks to you there won’t be any heirs.” 

Polly laughed in spite of her anxiety. 

“Maybe he’ll meet with an unfortunate accident on the return home. Lots of dangers out there. Lots of places that are still lawless. Some terrible brigands.” 

“Because that won’t seem suspicious at all.” But Maladict smiled as she spoke.

“It’s just a suggestion,” said Polly. 

They sat in a heavy silence for a moment, and then Maladict spoke again. 

“So do you want there to be a war, or do you want to assassinate Prince Heinrich and avoid a war? Though I don’t think that’s how political assassinations usually play out.” 

“Neither, really,” said Polly. 

What she wanted was to kiss Maladict again, but properly this time. 

What she wanted was for Maladict not to leave. But that felt like such a _girl_ thing to say. And she cringed at herself for thinking that. Maybe that was the lasting influence of the socks, getting in the way of her ability to be honest.

Maladict finally looked at her, and when she spoke, her voice was vulnerable. Polly had never heard her sound _vulnerable_ before.

“Did you like it better when I was dressed like that? With all the...” She gestured at her chest. 

“No,” said Polly incredulously. “Of course not.” 

“Oh,” said Maladict. 

“I like you you like this.” It felt like too small of a thing to say. Polly stood and crossed over to sit next to Maladict on the bed. It felt like she was in a dream. She touched Maladict’s hand. 

“I like you as…you.” 

Mal stared at her.

“You didn’t – you haven’t – I _kissed_ you! And you didn’t kiss back!”

“I was a bit preoccupied at the time!” protested Polly. “And it was a bit surprising!”

“Surprising? _Surprising_?” Maladict laughed suddenly, full-throated and fond. “Are you really – You really are that dense. I wasn’t even trying to hide anything this time!”

Polly chose not to dignify that with a response.

Maladict laughed again. She sounded bright and delighted, and Polly had to smile in response. So maybe she had been dense.

“I like you, too,” said Maladict slowly. She grinned, suddenly and devastatingly suave. They were, Polly realized with a thrill in her stomach, sitting very close together on the bed. “Also like this. Without that ridiculous beard.”

Polly laughed. “Shut up, corporal,” she said, and then she closed the gap between them and kissed her.

Properly this time. 

For once, Mal didn’t have a snappy come back. Her tongue was being put to better use. When Polly finally pulled away, Maladict was blushing. 

Polly hadn’t known vampires could blush. She grinned, suddenly realizing there were a lot of things she didn’t know about vampires. She intended to find them all out. 

“You have to stay,” she told Mal. “Someone has to help me make sure no one kills Wazzer over beet tariffs."

“Oh, fine,” said Maladict. She was still blushing. “Just shut up and kiss me again."

So Polly did.


End file.
